Broken For You
by forevernever030
Summary: "150 days that took me to fall for my captor. 150 days left for me to make my captor fall for me." Once taken by a golden haired boy and made into his, she cannot help but fall for him. But can she make him fall for her when a tragedy is revealed? Every single trigger possible contained, so read with caution. #crazy clace #sex slavery #S&M #stockholm syndrome #angst so much angst
1. Love Me to Death

**Love Me To Death**

 **Day 150**

Day 150.

150 scratches on the wall.

150 days.

150 days that took me to fall for my captor.

And 150 days.

150 days left for me to make my captor fall for me.

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 **Day 0**

Day 1137.

1137 scratches on the wall.

1137 days with Master-for first 10 days my tormenter, for the rest my lover.

Stretching my arms from my bound wrists, I look to my left to find Master sleeping soundly. I would brush the rogue strand of his white blond hair away from his eyes only if my hands were free. Only if he wouldn't punish me for touching him without permission.

So unmoving, I wait for him to open his deep black eyes.

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 **Day 1**

I'd never see his eyes again.

Waking up with a screaming pain in the back of my skull, I realize I am in the trunk of a car. A thick hoodie is covering my torso, and I unzip it to relieve me from the heat. This is no car of my master's. So where am I? Who is driving?

All I remember is a big exploding noise and then passing out. And my master-where is he?

I try to twist my body around the tight space. Familiar emotion swallows me as deja vu hits me hard.

Have I gone back to the past? On my thirteenth year when I have first stepped into the darkness?

I try my voice out, to be met with a foreign papery sound.

"Master?" I whisper hysterically-as if he could hear me. "Master? S-Sebastian?" The name feels awkward on my tongue.

Suddenly, a blazing light disturbs my sight, and I find three silhouettes of men hovering over me. I hadn't realized the car has come to a stop.

As my eyes slowly adapt to the light, I make out the faces of the men. And I recognize none of them as Sebastian's. That's when I scream.

This is no past.

This is day 1138.

My scream is cut off as a syringe plunges in and something familiar enters my bloodstream. Drug. They drugged me.

A man picks me up, and I try to fight but fail miserably-my arms are not mine. They now momentarily belong to the drug.

The man's drags me out from the trunk, then gathers me gently in his arms-why gentle, though? As far as I know, men's motives are not out of sugar. Nonetheless, I still melt into his touch. Only my master ever held me like that and I miss him. I miss him so much.

But he'd be mad. You're his, and his only.

The man carrying me says something, but I cannot quite comprehend it-as if it's a foreign language. And maybe it is. Where am I?

"Where am I?" My voice drags itself out, as if I'm unfathomably drunk.

"You are not to ask questions," the man replies, starting to walk with me still in his arms. "Your new master will be disappointed if he finds out you are inquisitive."

"Where am I?" I try again.

No reply.

"Where am I?! Where am I! WHERE AM-"

A slap echoes in my ear and as I feel my blood rush, I fall into the oblivion of deep darkness again.

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When I wake once more, I am in a queen sized bed with simple white bedsheets. In the darkness, I realize I am in a small room-alone. I drag my heavy body across the bed. Just as my bare foot touches the hard wood floor, I hear jingles of key outside and quickly crawl back under the covers.

The door opens with a creak and a stream of light enters the room. I squint to see that the man standing in the doorway has a blondish hair. Tall. With angel wings on his back.

"Sebastian?" I dare to speak his actual name.

He takes a few steps toward me, and I run toward him despite my lethargic legs. I kiss him hard-on the lips. I missed him so much. Too much. Enough to kiss him without permission.

Without kissing me back, Master puts his hands around my wrists, pulling me away swiftly with a small laughter vibrating his chest. Unfamiliar, _offensive_ laughter.

Not. Master.

Blinking, I study him closely. More of a golden hair than silver. And no angel wings. Just the smirk of a devil. I cannot believe those smirky lips were so warm against mine.

The stranger, with his grip still tight on my wrists, pins both of them on the back of my spine-on the lowest part, just above my ass. His chest presses against my gasping heart, as if to suffocate me.

 _He killed my Master. He killed Sebastian_ -angry voices hiss in my head.

I bite my lips to restrain myself from melting against him-just like I do to any other touches like the dark pleasure slave I am.

He cocks his head, calculating. Then, without warning, his hands release my wrists and press down my shoulders instead. Already weak, my body crumbles into a kneel with a gasp. I try pathetically to get up, but his foot press down against my thigh, preventing me from escaping the submissive position.

It is hopeless. To fight him with my unresponsive body.

"Slave."

The word is clear as crystal, and I find myself straining for more of his deep voice while trying to understand the word he spat out like a curse.

"What?"

"That is what you are," he speaks with no emotion in his voice. "Just because you are now out of your former prison does not mean you are free from slavery. You will simply serve others now."

"I already have a master and he is my one and only."

"And for now, you will serve me," he continues on as if I haven't spoken at all-and of course, I haven't. I'm just an object, a product. The noises I make are the same as the whimpers of door hinges and screams of a kettle.

"I don't serve you, or anyone else."

"If you think you've been trained by your former master, you have mistaken. That was nothing but a simple companionship. Obedience training will take place instead. Like a pet. I will give you one choice and that will be the last one you'll ever make, slave; would you prefer the whip or a forgiveness?"

Bastard.

"I only serve one person and that is Sebastian-"

Blood rushes to my cheek as his palm connects with it. "I'll take that as your answer."

He grabs my unruly hair and using it like a leash, he tilts my head backward. I almost collapse backwards, but he jerks my head again.

"Do not. Fall."

My pulse strains the thin skin of my throat as I obey and fight the force pulling me back.

"First lesson-do not speak the name of your former master in front of me. He is now nothing to you. Forget your past. You now have no past, no present, no future."

As I whimper in protest, he adds more force to the tug on my hair, and with a sharp inhale, I fall backwards. My skull crashes against the hard floor as he quickly lets go of my hair, and my waist strains from the sudden stretch.

"Sebastian!" I scream from the shock. "Sebastian!"

My captor's foot connects loudly with the spot right beside my head on my swirling storm of hair. I flinch, rather from the fear of him looming over me than the pain.

"You are not a fast learner, are you?" He crouches down beside me, studying my face intently. "Tell me, slave. Are you retarded? Is that why you leaned into one of my guards as he carried you? Is that why your movements are all pathetic? Is that why you... kissed me?" His lips has curled at the word. I cannot tell if he's disgusted or mocking me. I swallow hard, looking at the void just above his head. "Answer when asked, slave."

Swallowing once more, I search for words. "I am not retarded... I was drugged..."

"That drug you were given has nothing to do with hallucination or love deprivation, slave. Tell me you are not schizophrenic. That would be ridiculous in your place."

"Not... your... slave..." I breath out.

Urging my idiotic legs, I take them harshly from underneath my body, and scramble into a sitting position.

"Are you sure?"

Sure of my comment? Sure of my action? Sure of what?

"Can you deal with the punishment? Because everything you say from now on, _slave,_ " he stresses the word. "Will be followed by consequences."

"I don't do well with threats," I hiss between my teeth.

After all, I've taken numerous punishments from Master, my love. Been beaten, burned, whipped, _branded_. I've learned to withstand them. I've learned to grow hot from them. I've survived them from my lover. And I can survive them from these devils.

"Well, I don't do well with rebels," he snatches me up with the strands of my hair.

Screaming, I slap him on the face, but my heavy palms only manage to brush against his face. Snarling, he grabs both my wrists, and flings me on the bed with him on top of me.

"I would beat you to unconsciousness until you are screaming and begging for mercy," he hisses in my ear. "But unfortunately, I do not have the equipments with me for now."

I buck my hips, trying to fight him off, only to be met with his hard erection.

Son of a bitch.

Inhaling sharply, he rocks his hips against mine-once, twice-and then he reaches into his pocket.

"What's that?" I whisper. "What is that?"

He doesn't answer, but he pulls out a syringe.

"No, no, no, please don't!" I scream. "Please!"

"There, you're already begging," he smirks, licking a bead of sweat off my temple. I shudder at the touch, picturing Master for one moment. But no, don't let the memories of him be ruined. Don't let the bastard-

The needle plunges deep into me, and I soon lose myself in floating clouds.

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What is he going to do to me when I lose my mind?

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He leaves me there, immobile, spread out against the bedsheets.

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I fall asleep.

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I don't know how long I'd been sleeping, but the hunger in my stomach tells me it is past dinner. No dinner for me tonight, I assume. I suppose it normal...?

But I do not care if they intend to starve me out, to have me begging and crumbling on their feet. I've been starved to near death before. There's nothing they can put against me.


	2. Ghosts

**Ghosts**

 **Day 2**

At least they brought me food while I was asleep. A piece of toast with eggs. Breakfast. One breakfast, another day. I attack the food, finding it surprisingly delicious. Maybe it's from the starvation, maybe from the genuine flavor. Why do they handle me with care? I think back to the way the guard picked me up gently. Why gentle? Why to the slave?

After finishing the breakfast, I use the sharp tip of the fork to leave two scratches on the impeccable surface of the wallpaper. Just a little force on the tip and there-day 2.

I study the fork, wondering if I could use it as a weapon.

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I fall asleep.

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I wake up. There is food. Lunch.

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I fall asleep.

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I wake up. Dinner.

I realize the pattern as I munch on the piece of meat. I am not to have a company. Is there a camera in this room? Do they watch me? Wait until I fall asleep?

I try staying up, but I fail. Feels like drug is running my system. Has he drugged me again?

I try pretending to fall asleep. Nobody comes until I tire myself out and pass out. Is this a punishment? If so, it won't work.

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 **Day 3**

I miss my Sebastian.

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 **Day 4**

Loneliness is a sad companion.

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 **Day 5**

Darkness.

Darkness and silence is all I have.

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 **Day 10**

Nine days. The bastard left me alone for nine fucking days. I rock myself back and forth, looking at the fork marks on the wall. Memories. Memories of silence. Memories of silencedarknessloneliness. My miserable childhood. I think of the old days. No, don't think of the old days. Master made sure those were put behind.

But the sensation is familiar. The overwhelming acknowledgement of my presence filling up the room. The room is full of me-nothing else. And I crave for touch.

I. Crave. For. Touch.

The coldness on my skin reminds me of the screams of mine in the past.

And I do.

I scream.

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 **Day 12**

Sebastian appears. In my half-asleep state, he punishes me for being deprived of love. Deprived of love of the enemy.

Twelve scratches. Twelve scratches on the wall. The scratches I leave in the morning are the only thing keeping me aware of the time. The room has no window. I am in constant darkness. I cannot tell day from night except for the breakfast they keep bringing me. Then lunch. Then dinner. Three meals a day. Three meals a scratch.

 _Why leave the scratches? Why wait for them, beg for them?_ Master taunts me.

"Master... please..." I weep. Tears. First tear I've ever shed in this cell. Not from beatings, not from humiliation.

 _That's right. I am your master, and your only master. You shall never call others that. Never beg them._

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 **Day 13**

The room has morphed into a monster. The room from my childhood. The room of loneliness. Every second is unbearable.

I am beginning to see things.

I AM SEEING THINGS.

They must have poisoned me. Through food? Fuck every one of them.

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 **Days 14-15**

I stop eating.

They take full plates, only to replace them with another full meal.

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 **Day 16**

They stop bringing me food.

Instead of a warm plate of breakfast, I find another ragged scratch on the wall. Longer and deeper than others, as if to flaunt the marker's strength-the 16th scratch.

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 **Day 17**

Starvation, the howling depth of the darkness, and the haziness the loneliness all leads me to a state where I'm half awake and half asleep. Occasional cups of water are all I've been delivered with.

I hear footsteps and instantly bang and kick on the door, lunatic. I wail for food, for company. There is no answer but a pause in the steps.

"…please."

The footsteps start fading.

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 **Day 18**

Food. It's there when I wake. Breakfast. Egg sandwiches. I finish them in mere seconds, still left with hunger. There is a fork on the plate, and I know the reason. They will let me keep track of time. I stagger to the wall with scratches, studying them. 15 scratches by me. 2 by another. I leave another mark-weak, but steady.

Then I throw up, unable to reach the attached bathroom. And I collapse right on it, passing out on my own mess of vomit.

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I wake up to warmth. I see a needle attached to my wrist, panic at first, but find my legs and arms free-at least from the lethargy.

"Saying please," a voice calls out from above. "was your second lesson."

"You left me all by myself…" I murmur, not knowing who I am addressing it to.

"But I am here now. And I won't leave until you tell me to."

I give no answer.

"So what's it going to be?"

I turn around in my bed to look into my captor's golden eyes.

"Stay?" he cocks his head. "Or leave?"

Leave.

"Stay," my voice hangs from a cliff.

" _Please_."

"Please," I begin to weep, and he wraps a blanket around me.

"Good girl," he whispers, his breath brushing against my ear.

I lift my arm for a contact, but drop it as realization kicks in. This is the man who killed Sebastian. This is the man who took me away from him.

But oh, the way his breath caresses my face! I need him to touch me. Maybe just even a quick innocent touch-like an accidental brush of our hands.

The need to taste him is growing too strong, and a tear slips from the corner of my eye. His breath nears to the skin on my cheek, to my lips… The unbearable pain breaks me into a thousand pieces.

Crash.

I open my eyes to find him dazed with shreds of glass on the floor. I have smashed his jaw with a vase. I scream for my foolishness, and scramble backwards in panic, but he only laughs before he grabs my ankle and swiftly pulls me back in place.

"So you like to play it rough," he growls with his smoldering golden eyes.

I shake my head to deny it.

"Yes you do. You like to be hurt," he says, climbing on top of me. "And as a matter of fact, I like to hurt. So let's see how this goes."

He gathers my wrists together and pin them on the space over my head, sweeping his tongue across his bottom lip as he looks down on me.

"What do you think, slave? How far are you willing to let this go?"  
I cry out, trying to free my wrists.

"Stop fighting, or I'll have to hurt you bad. Actually though, here's a secret." he whispers. "I absolutely adore it when you fight back."

I whimper, losing control of my body once he traces my collarbones with his lips. Then before I can stop him, he bites down on my skin, making me cry out. I can feel blood running down my neck as I gasp for breath.

"You sick bastard!" I wince from the pain as he laughs.

"And what about your old lover? Was he not a sick bastard?" His voice suddenly drops. "And what about you? Don't you like it sick and twisted also?"

The moment he finishes the sentence, he bucks his hips against mine, and a moan escapes from my mouth.

"It's fine, you have the permission to feel good, slave."

"Not. Your. Slave," I gasp.

"But your body knows the truth," his hand suddenly slides over my underwear, and I groan weakly from the shock of pleasure and humiliation. "See? Your body is wet for me. It belongs to me. I control your body, and never forget that."

Tears run down my cheeks and my vision blurs as he wipes them away gently with his thumb.

"Relax. I am not here to rape you. I'm here to make you let me."

I remember Sebastian promising me, promising me that I will never happen to be with any other men. And I promised back, that I will always be his only. I need to keep that promise.

"It's never going to happen," I whisper. "It's never going to happen."

"Give me a week," he smirks down at me. "I promise you."


End file.
